


colder winters

by intradical



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: :(, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Fuck Yeah It Hurts!, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Sansa, THEONSA RIGHTS, honestly just ME grieving theon, missing 8x02 moments, post 8x03, sad word vomit, the ending is as happy as it can get, the theonsa is really just implied, this is so sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 16:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18720352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intradical/pseuds/intradical
Summary: "I dream about you sometimes, you know," she said softly. That was a lie. She corrected herself, "Most of the time." Another lie. She tried again, leaning her head back against the tree and letting her eyes flutter shut as she felt them start to well with tears. "All the time, Theon. I dream about you all the time."---in which sansa remembers theon.





	colder winters

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in the midst of me processing everything that happened in 8x03 and it is very Emotional and Messy and I apologize in advance if it sucks!!! i'm just really hurting over my boy and 8x04 is coming in a few hours so i felt the need to post this :'( enjoy!

Sansa Stark had known colder winters before this one.

The Lady of Winterfell sat pensively by the fire of her own chambers, in the great castle that had once stared Death right in the face in one of the longest nights the people of the North ever endured. Even by the warmth of the fire, she wrapped her cloak more securely around her slim frame and sunk back into her chair as the chills that accompanied her memory of that night and its aftermath inevitably came, as they often did on days as quiet as this.

She had endured a great number of horrid events in her lifetime, but the Battle of Winterfell remained one of the most terrifying, the most horrific. The most painful. The night of the Battle brought tremendous losses to the North, to Winterfell, and to Sansa as well, for this was the night she lost one of the only people she could ever let her guard down with, the only person who truly understood what being beaten, battered, and abused in the most nightmarish ways felt like.

 _Theon_ , the name brought her pause, as it always did whenever his memory snuck up on her in moments such as this, when she was alone with nothing but her own thoughts for company. She shut her eyes gently, and drew in a long, slow breath. Painful. Always painful. _Theon._

She was sitting by the fire and she pulled her chair closer to the hearth. Her hands came out from beneath her cloak to warm themselves, seeking solace in the sensation of the heat slowly spreading through her fingers. Minutes passed, and Sansa stood up, pulling thick gloves over her fingers and smoothing down her cloak. She held her chin high and drew in another breath, before seemingly steeling herself and walking out of her chambers and into the cold noon of the winter, the cool and graceful mask of the Lady of Winterfell back in its place.

The people of Winterfell greeted her with smiles and lighthearted expressions, having done their best to shut the memories of the Long Night away to the furthest recesses of their mind as they went about their business in the town. Sansa was glad to see them like this, out and about and doing their best to continue with their lives as the last of Winterfell's rehabilitation efforts drew to a close. The place was as alive as she'd ever seen it, and it was starting to look like the home that they all grew up in again, that she spent a part of her life wanting to leave in the hopes of chasing her dreams and becoming a proper princess, married to a tall, dashing, and chivalrous prince that swept her right off her feet. 

She couldn't help but scoff at the memory. These were the silly, stupid dreams of a silly, stupid girl. A girl that she no longer was. Now, she was the Lady of Winterfell, doing her best to keep her people safe, protected, and happy. _This_ was her home. Their home. _His home_.

In retrospect, none of the men she married possessed any of the qualities of her perfect prince, and she ended up hating them for the most part. The only man who ever came close never became her husband, or her lover, or anything of the sort; he became her safe place, the warm fire that brought her comfort in the most biting cold.

She found herself in the Godswood. For a few moments she stood, shaken by how she imagined the events of that fateful night happened. As she passed the point where they found Theon's body, along with the rest of the fallen Ironborn and the Night King's wights, she lowered her eyes and closed them, breathing in the winter air. She held her breath until she stood right underneath the magnificent weirwood tree, where she opened her eyes and released it. She settled down at the base of the trunk and took in the sight of the snow falling lightly as the faint sunlight seeping in from the thick clouds gave the scene a bright, glimmering sheen. 

Sansa didn't know how much time had passed while she sat there in reverie before she spoke - as if he were here, as if he could hear her.

"I dream about you sometimes, you know," she said softly. She knew she was lying, and then she thought that she didn't need to lie, at least not to him. She corrected herself, "Most of the time." Another lie. She tried again, leaning her head back against the tree and letting her eyes flutter shut as she felt them start to well with tears. "All the time, Theon. I dream about you all the time."

Sometimes they were good dreams, and sometimes they were nightmares. The nightmares came often, reminding her of the brutal past she and him both endured. The good dreams were her treasures, the ones she kept close to her heart, locked in its deepest core for safekeeping. He helped her escape from that brutal past, gripped her hand as they ran away and held her close to keep her warm in one of the harshest winters she'd known to escape their common tormentor, before they parted ways to go where they were needed and build themselves back up. Harder and stronger. Back then, she got to hold him close and bid him farewell before he was gone.

"I never got to say goodbye." She said in a small voice that was almost childlike as a single tear slipped out. The others would be soon to follow, she thought. And it would be a while before the tears would stop flowing, because even the tiny saltwater droplets never failed to remind her of him. Of the sea.

They buried him much in the same way as they did his father, with Yara and a few of her fellow Ironborn standing in the sea and grimly sending him off. Sansa stood with the rest of her family then, as they watched Theon be gently carried away by the waves of the sea. She and Yara were the last ones left to watch him drift off, standing together in silence at the shore as Theon became a speck in the distant sea, even when the rain began to softly drizzle.

"He wanted to fight for the North," Yara stated, still staring after her younger brother. She turned to Sansa. "For your family. For you."

Sansa merely nodded, jaw clenched with the effort of not breaking down then and there. He was part of their family, as he always will be. A Stark and a Greyjoy, a wolf and a true Ironborn.

"I never got to thank you," Yara continued, shifting her gaze back out to the open sea. "for treating him so kindly, as if he were your own, even under the circumstances. Your father was a good man."

At this, Sansa's chest ached, though she didn't know why, and she nodded again. "That he was."

"Even after what happened with that horrid Bolton bastard, I was happy to find that Theon had regained himself somewhat. Glad that someone cared enough to give him the push he needed." Yara said as she gave the girl beside her a knowing look.

"He saved me from Ramsay, you know." Sansa replied quietly a few moments later, her gaze shifting downwards. "We both needed all the help we could get." A pause, and then Sansa couldn't help it any longer. The dam broke, a lapse in her carefully maintained composure.

"I'm sorry." Sansa said, voice breaking. "I'm so, so sorry."

Yara looked at her suddenly, shock etched in her gaze. "What are you apologizing for?"

Sansa shook her head as the effort to hold back her tears took overwhelmed her.

"If you're apologizing because he died fighting for Winterfell, don't. He chose this. He knew what he was getting into and what needed to be done. He died with honor, Lady Sansa. There is nothing to apologize for." Yara said firmly, her pride for Theon evident in the way she spoke, even as her eyes started misting over.

Sansa managed to reign herself in and be soothed by the Ironborn Queen's words as she eventually calmed down. They stood there in a companionable silence, until Jon came for Sansa, and departed for Winterfell after bidding Yara a solemn goodbye...

Sansa dug her hands into the snow at the memory. Remembering Theon never got any easier, it seemed. She sighed again and pulled her knees closer to her chest. The night of the battle and the last words she ever spoke to Theon ringing in her head...

_  
"Keep him safe."_

_"I'll do my best, m'lady."_

_"And promise me you'll keep yourself safe as well, please."_

_To this, Theon offered no reply. He knew in his heart that if what they speculated of the Night King's intention and course of action were true, Theon would likely die defending Bran. He merely stared down at the bowl he was holding, the spoon gripped tightly in his hand._

_"Theon." Sansa said. He closed his eyes, remembering a time when he refused his name and who he was. She was the one who pushed him to accept it, to accept himself again. And here they were: together on the last night of the known world._

_"Theon, look at me." Sansa repeated in a firmer tone, one hand came up to catch his chin and tilt his head towards her. He looked at Sansa. Her bright blue eyes searched his determinedly. For what, neither she nor he knew. A promise, or a certain feeling. Theon could only give her one of the two._

_"I won't make you a promise that I'm not sure I can keep." Theon whispered, his voice shaking only slightly as he lifted his head high and met her eyes with a look just as fierce. "I won't hurt you like that, Sansa, or give you reason to resent me if I can't honor my word."_

_Sansa shook her head, a grim but soft smile on her lips. Her fingers let go of his chin as her hand moved to gently lay her palm flat against the side of his face and stroke his cheek for barely a few seconds before she brought it back down to her spoon. Theon could still feel the warmth that lingered from her touch, even in the harsh cold that bit at their skin. "I could never resent you."_

_"You did, once upon a time." Theon said lightly, before he turned serious again. "I can't promise you what you want me to. You know I can't."_

_Sansa pursed her lips. She knew that, yet a part of her stubbornly wanted him to say that he would see her again once all this was over, wanted to hear some form of assurance from the only person who she felt really knew her. She told him as much._

_"Come back to me, Theon." She said, in a whisper so quiet and a tone so vulnerable that it made Theon's heart ache._

_"I would like to." Theon replied, smiling at her faintly and hoping against all hope that she could see in his face the words he had yet to tell her, the feelings he had yet to admit out loud. "If you'll have me."_

_Sansa smiled back just a tiny bit. Some moments later one of the women walked by, collecting bowls in a crate. Sansa and Theon put theirs in, and they shuffled closer together. They stood in silence by the fire pit. Soon enough, their hands found their way to each other beneath their thick cloaks and layers - brushing shyly against the other at first, but eventually grasping tight. They heard the signal, and huddled even closer. Sansa squeezed his hand. Theon squeezed back. He had to go now. Neither of them knew what was to come, but both hoped immensely that they would live to see the sunrise, together._

As the afternoon passed and the sky began to darken, Sansa returned to her chambers. She readied herself for bed, and lay awake wondering what dream would come to her that night.

_Theon._

"'What is dead may never die,'" Sansa recited as she stared at the ceiling, recalling faintly the words Yara spoke as they sent Theon away.

"'But rises again, harder and stronger.'" Came a response. The voice sounded achingly familiar, and was so, _so_ close.

Sansa closed her eyes, willing herself to stay here, in what she knew was a dream. 

She turned her head to look, and there he was – on the other side of the large bed, facing her, one hand in the space between them.

Wordlessly, she shifted so that she faced him. She did this very slowly, as if any abrupt movements would shatter the illusion of him right before her eyes. Her breath hitched when she met his eyes. He smiled at her, free of the blood, snow, and grime that covered him in death. Sansa lifted a hand, ever so carefully, and brushed back his curls with a feather-light touch. Her fingers wandered, travelling from his temple to trace the arch of his brow, the high point of his cheekbone, the sleek line of his jaw.

She looked at him, marveling at the way he looked at her. He looked and felt so warm and _alive_. The emotions they felt were mirrored in each other’s faces. Longing. Elation. Relief. Grief. _Love_. Maybe she was dreaming, and this was all in her head, but Sansa liked to believe that a kind of magic brought the real Theon to her in her dreams, answering her prayers in a way.

She caught his hand in both of hers between their bodies, and she moved closer to him.

Sansa breathed out, feeling all of the grief and worry and pain that weighed down on her throughout the days disappear even for just a moment as finite and fleeting as this.

"I miss you." She whispered, on the verge of tears yet again as she gazed into his eyes, and was comforted by the fact that they looked at peace, like the raging storm that tormented the sea in them was finally gone. She brought their hands to her lips, leaving a light, lingering kiss there.

"I know." He replied, just as simply, as he brought his other hand up as well, and gave Sansa's a tight, comforting squeeze. He moved closer to her, until their bodies were no more than a few inches apart.

She regarded him in front of her again, and Theon gave her another of his little, rare smiles. He nodded, as if urging her to get a good night’s rest. He would be here, was what he meant. He would look out for her.

Sansa smiled back and closed her eyes, pulling their entwined hands closer to her chest and curling into herself a bit more.

Sansa Stark had known colder winters, but on nights like these, she remembered the man who brought the warmth that kept her alive.

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? it's my first time actually posting a fic for GoT (and on ao3) so please be gentle and taste your words before you spit them out skdkjd BYE
> 
> edit: just got back from watching episode 4 and DAMN  
> . i need to Discuss . anyway let's just go on pretending they held theon's funeral the Ironborn way skdkdkk


End file.
